Moving out

On March 1, 2010, Ryan and I moved out of the first apartment we shared together to a newer, bigger, shinier place.  The following pictures show the walls of the old place, parts of the new place, and a load of shenanigans in between.  Enjoy

Thanks to Joey, Nicole, Andrew, Mom and Dad for moving us in!

[1]  The beginning of “life on my own.”  I was so excited that I got to write on the walls.  When I found out I was only going to be living there for a year, though, I didn’t end up writing very much.  It seemed like too much work to not take with us, but I’ve at least got pictures of most of what we wrote.

[2]  Andrew’s contribution to the wall from one of my favorite movies, haha.

[3]  Of course I had a Beatles/English corner.  There was a British flag hanging next to these quotes.

[4]  Kelsi wrote, “Seestars Fo-eva!  Whether we like it or not! <3 Kelsi”  I’m sad that these pictures didn’t come out very clear.

[5]  Nicole said, “Your Mom is BATTY (and we love her!)”

[6]  Mom responded, “Yea me ”  My Mom rocks!

[7]  This “Completely logical idea” was for someone to follow Ryan around with a guitar playing a soundtrack to his life….

[8]  Narcisleptic is someone who is narcissistic and narcoleptic: Someone who wants to sleep with themselves but keeps falling asleep.

[9]  This started out as just taking a picture of us under the writing on the wall that says, “Facebook just got simpler January 6, 2009,” but Joey and Ryan are goofballs and enjoy playing with cameras.

[10]  Happiness!

[11]  AAAAAH!

[12]  Wha happened?  (A Mighty Wind reference)

[13]  Hrm, I think I should’ve tried to lick his eyeball…that always freaks him out

[14]  When Ryan came to visit me that weekend, we decided to change our statuses to “It’s complicated,” because I wanted to go out with him, but we still had the distance issue.  Shortly into the trip I realized that distance once again does not matter, and more than that, we’re old enough to do something about the distance now, whereas back in high school, we were stuck.  So on January 6, I asked Ryan if he wanted to make it official and move to MA, he said yes.

Seconds later he geeked out because Joey looked like Johnny Depp from Secret Window.  Now, he looks like Animal:

[15]  I’ll let the hat and mess speak for themselves.

[16]  Hello, Joseph!

[17]  For some reason, Ryan attacked my hair.  I don’t know why he did, but it felt AMAZING.

[18] Grrrrr.

[19]  That felt good

[20]  Really, Ryan?  Must you deflower my Christmas gift from Kari?

[21]  Setting up the essentials at the new place.  Gotta have the computer cuz you gotta have TUNES!

[22]  Look, I found The Guild!  Not that it’s important right at this moment…

[23]  Phone’s ringing…this place is a mess.

[24 ... an alien]  Is it an alien?  Or is it a JOEYMONSTER!  He has at least six eyes!

[25]  Joey has weird timing with the camera…but pretty candle.  I think the orb on my arm is the ghost that was making all that noise!

[26]  Ryan with his feet up, being lazy (kidding!)

[27 ... it waved at me]  Yeah, random foot picture by Joey…

[28]  We got all the furniture organized!  We put as much up against the wall as possible to hopefully block the sound more.

[29]  Look at all the extra room for activities!

When I get everything cleaned up this weekend, I’ll take a few more pictures; hopefully it will be fully decorated, too!  I’m so excited about this new place

Dreams

The other day my sister told me I sounded like a fifteen-year-old girl talking about how I’m going to be famous and rich and have everything I’ve always wanted. It annoyed me, but when I asked myself why, it got me thinking about dreams. Some people don’t dream at all, because they are afraid they’ll never get it and it will hurt more than they could stand. When I started thinking from the perspective, I pulled up the question: What is the worst that can happen from working on these novels with Joey?

The Worst:

One would think the worst that could happen is failing: we never finish the book, nobody wants to publish it or it gets published and no one likes it. That would be pretty bad, but I’d still have the experience of being a novelist, something I never thought I’d actually have. Not to mention, we’re only a few chapters from the end of the rough draft, so I don’t think the first failure, of not finishing the novel, will happen. There is still the chance that no one will publish it or like it, but I find that doubtful.
We’re writing with our contemporaries, much like every time period I ever studied in British, American, or World lit. The classes are all about, “How is this similar to who came before and how is it different?” We are taking what is popular at the time and integrating the elements we like while making fun of the elements that we dislike.
And if no one likes what we write, we still have the experience, one that has brought Joey and I closer together than I thought possible. Which brings me to the absolute worst thing that could happen in this venture, and it could happen before or during publishing: something could turn into a huge argument between us and end our friendship forever.

I don’t think this could possibly happen. If it was going to, I imagine it would’ve happened already. Luckily for us, we’ve spent a lot of time fighting about useless things in the duration of our friendship and have therefore learned how to navigate an argument into something useful; every time we have an argument about the book, the story gets even better.

The Best:

Obviously the best case scenario is that our book catches the world’s imagination and we soar into the consciousness of our audience. That I’ll become a New York Times bestselling author, something I’ve wanted since I read Stephanie Plum and saw that splashed on every one of Evanovich’s books.  And maybe saying things like that does sound naïve. But if I didn’t go after this chance, I would be absolutely insane, especially since the worst that can happen seems so utterly unlikely. Let them say no to us; they can’t take away the artistic genius that has come from our writing partnership or the fun we’ve had along the way.

Oh, Edward *fluttery sigh* (Please don’t shoot me)

Okay, I am about to actually quote Twilight (well, New Moon) and blog about it. I’ll make it short and sweet and hopefully you can all forgive me in the morning.

“You’re impossible,” [Edward] said, and he laughed once a hard laugh, frustrated. “How can I put this so that you’ll believe me? You’re not asleep, and you’re not dead. I’m here, and I love you. I have always loved you, and I will always love you. I was thinking of you, seeing your face in my mind, every second that I was away. When I told you that I didn’t want you, it was the very blackest kind of blasphemy.”

That sentence sums up exactly why almost every ‘tween, teen and twenty-something is in love with these books, with Edward. Every break up we’ve ever had, we’re left wishing that person would come back and say these words to us. And I burst into tears right along with Bella.

On a personal note, I identify more with Edward in this scene than Bella at the moment, though I’ve been in her position at least three times. Because about five years ago I broke up with Ryan, for a myriad of reasons, but mostly because he lived in Pennsylvania and he was a Junior in high school and I was a Freshmen in college. I didn’t want to say goodbye to him, but it wasn’t working then, never seeing each other. But, I got Edward’s ending here. We’re older, we have control over our lives and we have each other. My Junior year of high school, I dreamed and dreamed of being with Ryan forever. I think 16-year-old Rhiannon would flip if she knew she’d be living with him in her 20s!

How Swiftly Now Dark Closes In

by Greg Davis

How swiftly now dark closes in
and runs it’s fingers through our hair,
as shades of purple soon begin
to permeate throughout the air.
I must admit I was surprised
to find the lamps alight so soon,
like candle light, encapsulated,
beneath the rising of the moon.

How swiftly comes the wind so cool,
down from the north and from the sea,
that lingers over muddy pools
and wraps it’s tendrils around me.
I did not hear the wind crash down,
I only felt it’s creeping chill.
It flies about without a sound
and silently it sweeps each hill.

How swiftly do the trees turn red
and cast the green from all their leaves,
a golden crown upon their head
that dances with the autumn breeze.
I did not see the leaves let go
and throw their verdant youth away,
caught in the rolling ebb and flow
of autumns brisk and windy day.

How swiftly now do all things die.
How swiftly do the flowers fade
and pass away with gentle sigh,
as in a sea of leaves they wade.
I did not notice death draw near,
he moves about so quietly,
his tender call I did not hear
his gentle face I did not see

This wonderful poem comes from a friend on mine on Facebook. He is a fantastic poet, and I love the melancholy in this poem. He was gracious enough to let me re-post it here for you all to enjoy. The imagery he uses sparks my mind. I wonder if this is about lost youth, or lost love. A friendship maybe.

Ah, breathe in and enjoy the emotion.

Riding the Wave?

Today began like most other days.  I woke up around 9:30am (a bit early for me on a day off), but not too unusual.  I don’t regularly wake up at any hour.  So I hop onto the computer.  Check my email and tweets.  I notice Rosie and Sandra (my little sisters) have tweeted some enigmatic notices for those interested.  I knew something was up and intended to call Rosie later.

I chat with Branden for a while, and we make tentative plans for that evening.

I wrote the next batch of Chapter Five of the book Rhi and I are so feverishly trying to finish draft one of by the 21st of September…a day that means many things.  It’s Rhiannon, Phil (my brother), and Emily’s (my niece; Sandra’s daughter) birthday.  It is also the symbolic first day of autumn, my favorite season, and it just so happens to be the day the next Mika album comes out.  Anyway, I digress.

I was ready for a break in writing.  I took the short walk over to Shaw’s Supermarket looking for inspiration for dinner.  I picked up a few pieces of fruit I like.  Got two desserts for myself and my mother at the bakery, then wandered over to the meat department.  It was sitting there – gleaming in it’s cellophane wrapping – begging to be taken home with me.  How could I refuse such a perfectly beautiful roast?  But the size of it, nearly five pounds.  Was is possible to slow cook this in time for dinner?  It was eleven thirty.  I asked the meat guy and he said 6-8 hours.  We’re late eaters, my mother and I, it would work.

When I get home, the first thing I do is put the roast in the crock pot.  Inspiration comes to me.  I don’t want to just fill the pot with water.  I want to give this roast some flavor.  I open all the cabinets – smelling and tasting spices and sauces and broths – OH me, oh my, such choices.  I go with my first instinct and add equal amounts of organic canned apple juice and water, rosemary, two bay leaves, and I season the roast with salt and pepper.  The fragrence, by the way, is amazing right now…I can’t wait to devour this roast.  Around 3:30 I’ll add the potatoes and carrots.  This should be a nice meal.

Back in my room I crack open the one and only Pepsi I’ve allowed myself to purchase today and sit back down at the computer.  I talk to Branden again and it seems he won’t be able to get together with me until later that night, and I had a sudden strong urge for Mommy-time.  I’d been neglecting her lately, and I knew it.  Whenever people come over we’re usually holed-up in my room.  Rhiannon and I are usually hard at work, and I usually keep my door shut nightly as a courtesy (I listen to music a bit too loud to leave my door open).  It has been about a month since Mom and I have had some “us” time.  We like our “us” time.  SO I cancel with Branden and we decide another time is best.

Then, before I get started writing again, I decide to call Rosie to see what was up.  I found out what she was stressed about, a private matter I don’t think appropriate to bring up here.  Although I will say that it ended with her telling me that Mom wanted her to come over tonight with Landon (my godson, Rosie’s son).  How lucky for her that I got such a large roast!  How lucky I just so happened to clear off my schedule to hang out with Mom tonight and be free to be there for her!  It was almost as if divine providence was guiding me through such a great day as it has been for me.  Giving me the urge to cook real food, then finding the perfect match to what will be a nice end of the day.

After I got off the phone with Rosie I called Mom at work.  I got some more of the specifics of Rosie’s problem then told her about how neat it was that my day had inadvertently made it so tonight would be as pleasant as could be for the four of us.  She laughed and agreed, because she intended to do a little grocery shopping this morning, but got called into work early!  What another nice coincidence.

Now, I sit here wondering…is this what they mean by riding the wave of life?  Is this what they mean when they say go with the flow?  Have I handed my life over to a higher power?  Sure, the events of today were mundane, but it is still nice to see how connected everything seems when you’re not stressed and just letting life play with you…instead of playing with life.  I am full of so much inspiration today; I will be surprised if I get any sleep tonight.  I may write until I can’t move anymore.  It is such a grand feeling.

Eyes Look Your Last

So, I’ve epically failed at quitting smoking lately.  Just thought I’d put that out there.  This entry is being written because I’m ill-contented with my life as it stands (“Aren’t we all!” screams the guy in the back row).  I don’t want to divulge everything, because I feel like that would be complaining and I really have nothing to complain about.  The reason I’m not happy right now is plain and simple:  I’m not the person I’d hope to be at this point.

Just to be clear, this has nothing to do with the goals I have for my life.  This has nothing to do with writing, or becoming a best selling novelist, celebrity or any of that.  None at all.  I’m happy where I am and where I’d headed with my career.  It’s my personal life I’m not satisfied with.  Here’s a regular conversation I have with myself:

“You should go to the gym,” the Angel on my right shoulder says while I suck in my gut.

“That requires getting into gym clothes” I respond, “and you either look great or you look FAT-AS-HELL in gym clothes.”

“If you go to the gym, then you WILL look good in gym clothes,” says the Angel.

“Yes, but that doesn’t help the fact that I look FAT-AS-HELL now.”

“Besides,” says the Devil on my left, “then you’d also have to shower, and none of your gym clothes are clean.  You wear them to bed you know…and they smell like it.”

“He has a point,” I say.

“You know that’s bull shit,” says the Angel.

“I know.  But as soon as I go back into my room I won’t care.”

Or some other such silliness.  It’s always about my weight, smoking, or being single.  And in a way they are all connected.  I don’t even think about not liking my job anymore, because I know I’m working towards that with my writing.

I titled this entry ‘Eyes Look Your Last,’ because that’s what I hope to do very soon.  See the last glimpes of the fat, lazy, room rat.  90% of my computer time is wasted time.  Writing this blog, however, is not included on that list.  I want to write more blogs.  I spend a lot of time on the computer just looking useless shite up.  For the first time in a long time I want to trash my room…but this time not trash it in rage…just get rid of all the things that I don’t want in my life anymore.  Something inside aches for me to put off that task, though.  One day at a time, I know…but here’s to hoping.

Freedom

Some day I hope to have a job where I can totally be myself every day.  Where I work now is a little bit conservative, so my crazy antics don’t really go over very well.  Everyone laughs when I’m hyper and silly, but it doesn’t seem like something people would be okay with all day every day.

When I worked at the haunted house, being hyper and crazy is part of the job.  Without the energy, we’d never put on a good show.  Plus, the weirder I am, the better.  No one questions you if you run around yelling, “I’LL KEEL YOU!  DIEDIEDIE!”  I think some people might be a little worried if I started screaming that in my office.  In fact, I’m pretty sure they’d call the cops and the men in white coats.

I got a little over exuberant today during a going away party for one of our coworkers.  I can’t help it – the topic of Harry Potter, especially the movie being pushed back because of freakin’ Twilight, gets me all kinds of fired up.  Everyone cracked up, but comments such as, “Maybe you should be cut off from the rum cake,” and, “Thank goodness it’s Friday for her!” followed my ranting.

Lately I’ve been feeling caged in, sort of.  Maybe feeling a little closed down.  I think it’s because I can’t let loose for 40 hours a week.  I think I’m going to work at the haunted house for a couple of weekends this summer, because I need to let myself out of this conservative lockdown I’ve been under for six months.  I want to be free!  I am not a number!  I AM A FREE MAN!!!!!

High Heeled Shoes

I’m always joking with my friends about how I’m barely a girl sometimes. On the list of things I enjoy doing on a Saturday, shopping is probably as close to the bottom as one can get.  Handbags, accessories, jewelry – none of it holds my interest.  But of all the girly things out there,
the one I hate the most has got to be high heeled shoes.

Seriously, I hate just about everything about them. Sometimes they’re cute, but cute is not enough to convince me to stuff my feet into them; bunnies are cute, as well, but same idea, unless they happen to be slippers.  I hate how they make my ankles feel wobbly and unstable, I hate how sore my legs and feet are when I take them off, I hate how they click as I walk down the hall.  I hate when OTHER people click down the hall in heels.  The noise they make has me secretly hoping the offender falls flat on her face.

Lastly, I hate that it’s near impossible to wear a dress or a skirt without wearing high heels.  Most of the time, flats look silly with a skirt, but heels bother me so much that I rarely get dressed up. If I could wear sneakers and a skirt, I’d probably be all about that. Thank God, for Sketchers: without their dressed up sneakers, work would be complete hell for me.  High heels = work of the devil.  That is my rant for the week.

Limbo | Volume I, Issue 3

I was intending to write about something completely different.  In fact, I spent two hours writing an entry I have no intentions of posting.  I just deleted it all.  Why?  A part of me is living in limbo, and I want to explore that in this entry.

The Catalyst

My writing has always been extermely important to me, and recently it has taken the front seat in my life. This has put me in a rather strange position.  A position I’ve never willingly accepted in my life before.  I’m letting my entire future hang on the writing of this series.  My writing is my life.

Writing takes up about 70% of my thought processes at the moment.  About 25% of my thought is given to my addictions, and the remaining 5% is spent thinking about everything else.

I guess it comes down to a simple thing.  That last 5% is wanting to take up more of my time.  One thing specifically, relationships.  It’s not very often that I feel lonely.  I share my life with my family and my friends, and I have no problem  making romantic gestures toward those close to me.

You know…I’m going to end this somewhat nonsensical entry here.  It’s about something more than just a morning dump’s worth of bathering.  It’s about love.  What is it?  What do I think of it?  Do I really think about it?  Is it out there for me?  I want it, but do I know what I want?